it is,’ his mother answered. ‘Does she not look divine this evening? I believe motherhood agrees with her.’
‘I had a mind to speak to her husband. If you will excuse me, I believe I’ll go and ask if he is here.’
Oh, Lord, but he was seven kinds of an idiot. He’d just spent a fortnight avoiding Sophie, trying to forget how she’d felt in his arms. He’d thought long on what to say to her tonight, and promised himself that he’d make sure he never found himself in that situation again. He’d just determined to spend the evening securing another woman’s favour, and been warned by her father to keep his nose clean. Yet one glance had him abandoning all those good intentions, stifling the warning ringing in his head. He cursed himself for a fool all the way across the long, crowded parlour, but he didn’t stop.
‘Good evening,’ he said when he reached them.
‘Charles! You have finally come!’ Sophie said, reaching out to him. Was that relief he heard in her voice? And was she relieved to see him or to be distracted from her companion? ‘Please, allow me to present Mr Huxley? Mr Huxley, this is our host, Viscount Dayle.’ They greeted each other and Sophie continued, ‘And of course you are already acquainted with Mrs Lowder.’
‘Of course. May I present my compliments? You look lovely this evening.’
Mrs Lowder thanked him with an amused look and a brow raised in Sophie’s direction. Sophie, predictably, was not impressed.
‘There, Emily, now you have experienced first hand a bit of Lord Dayle’s famous charm! Come now, Charles, enough flattery, what we really wish to see is your hand.’
‘My hand?’
‘Oh, yes, my lord!’ Mrs Lowder was smiling quite genuinely now. ‘You see, Miss Westby and I were walking in the park today.’
‘Which park?’ asked Mr Huxley.
‘Hyde Park, of course,’ said Sophie, ‘and we walked there via Brook Street to Park Lane.’
‘I’ve always found Mount Street to be superior,’ Huxley answered. ‘Less traffic, you see.’
‘In any case, we were introduced to a most impertinent young lady there. She knew we were acquainted with you, Charles.’
‘But what does any of it have to do with my hand?’ asked Charles.
‘She wished to know if it were true that you were part-Selkie, Lord Dayle!’ interjected Mrs Lowder. ‘Can you imagine?’
Despite himself, Charles laughed. ‘Unfortunately, I can imagine.’ He shot Sophie a look of mock-severity. ‘I can also imagine you telling the poor child it was true.’
‘Well, I did assure her we would check for webbed fingers when next we saw you, but considering the light such a thing would cast upon Lady Dayle, I felt compelled to deny the charge. In any case, I told her, you most assuredly have your father’s nose.’
Charles just shook his head. He didn’t know which was more outrageous, the rumours or her method of dealing with them. ‘I must thank you for defending my family’s honour.’ His mother, he could see, stood in whispered consultation with the butler, and was turning to leave the room. He turned to Mrs Lowder. ‘I remember your skill on the pianoforte very well. I hope you will play for us all after dinner, but right now I must whisk Miss Westby away, as my mother has requested her assistance.’
‘Of course, I would be honoured,’ Emily answered with a smile.
‘Mr Huxley, grand to have met you,’ said Charles as he firmly grasped Sophie’s elbow, ushering her away before she had a chance to protest. He led her out the door his mother had just exited, and stood a moment in the hall, debating. Likely, his mother had been called to the kitchens. The dining room, he knew, would be swarming with servants. As he hesitated, Sophie pulled her arm from his grasp.
‘Where is your mother, Lord Dayle?’
‘Soothing the cook, I imagine.’
‘She doesn’t need my assistance.’
‘No, I do. We have to talk.’
Ah, the bookroom. He herded Sophie in and carefully left the door partially open. She looked around curiously, and then turned to him with a frown. ‘How disappointing. Nary a radical nor a ladybird in sight.’
‘Very amusing.’ Charles grimaced.
‘Well, I do have first-hand knowledge of what you get up to in empty rooms.’
‘Stop it, Sophie, can we not talk seriously for a moment?’
She took a calming breath and threw back her shoulders. He wished she wouldn’t—it strained both her neckline and his control. ‘You’ve ignored my existence for a full fortnight, but you are compelled to talk now, in the middle of your dinner party?’
‘My mother’s dinner party, but yes.’
She waited; he stared, trying to gather his thoughts. What was there to say? There were at least a thousand thoughts crowding his brain, he had to tread carefully and choose just the right one.
‘You’d been kissed before,’ he said.
Her jaw dropped. He groaned and pushed a hand through his hair. That had not been the right one.
Her décolletage was heaving now, in perfect time with his gut. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she gasped. ‘That’s what you dragged me in here to discuss? That’s what you took away from our—encounter?’
Lord help him, but it was true. Though he hadn’t articulated the thought to himself, it had been nagging at him, poking and prodding, making him squirm perhaps even more than his other troubles. ‘You knew how to kiss. Someone had to teach you.’
True to form, Sophie laughed, but it was a desolate sound. Despairing. She turned and walked away.
Well, what did he expect? She would be well within her rights to leave the room and never speak to him again, but he couldn’t stop himself, he had to know.
‘Was it Sean Hill?’
‘The blacksmith’s boy?’ Anger brought her back, and Sophie was angry indeed. Her dark eyes flashed, her cheeks flushed, and she advanced on him like Ney and d’Erlon into Wellington’s centre line.
‘You were gone, Charles. You left for school and never looked back. I didn’t blame you. I knew how things were with your father.’ She stopped before him, magnificent in her fury. ‘But I was still there. I might be there still if not for Emily and your mother.’
She turned away again, and retreated to the far side of the room. ‘Did you think because their mamas disapproved of me, the boys would steer clear of me? Foolish—don’t you know that that made me even more interesting?’ Her voice fell away to a whisper. ‘I was alone, Charles.’
She rallied and shot him a look of defiance. ‘Thank God for Emily. If we hadn’t struck up a friendship, I might have done far worse than allow a boy to kiss me.’ She gave an ironic snort. ‘I might have run off to Gretna with
